


Sweater Weather

by the13thCaretaker



Category: Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica - James A. Owen, cotig
Genre: Charles knows everything, Edith is a super star, Embarrassed Jack, Fluff, Happy, John is so oblivious, modern college au, they are all dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 11:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the13thCaretaker/pseuds/the13thCaretaker
Summary: This is the only thing I've ever written that means anything to me.





	Sweater Weather

Autumn came quickly to Oxford this year, and in all honesty, Edith was thrilled. Autumn meant she got to wear her boyfriend’s sweaters. They were big, soft, floppy, warm, and they smelled like John. He smelled like old pine trees and hot chocolate. Which was probably because there was usually sap somewhere in the threads from climbing some tree while trying to hold his book bag and hot chocolate spilled from his coffee mug, but that was besides the point. She loved to snuggle into them, and then snuggle into him, and then listen to him gush about the mythology he was working on.

Sometime in mid-October though, Edith noticed some of John’s sweaters were missing. She wasn’t wearing them, and neither was he. There were quite a few gone, particularly the extra big ones. She always meant to ask John what he was doing with them, but as homework piled up, they saw less of each other and she always forgot. As the weeks passed, more sweaters seemed to be disappearing.

Finally a couple weeks into November, Edith saw the coffee shop where John was studying with his friends, Charles and Jack. Charles was alright, if a bit odd, but Jack, she didn’t like Jack. He got John into too much trouble, and if she was honest she was the slightest bit jealous of how much time she spent with him. In any case, she went inside to ask John about the sweaters before she forgot. 

He was near the door, waiting at the counter for his refill of hot chocolate, and smiled when she came in. Like fine machinery, their hands intertwined together as she stood next to him. 

“Studying hard?” she asked.

“Mhm, we’re almost done with the paper,” he said.

Before he could launch into spilling out information about the Norse gods, Edith spoke. 

“Hey, silly question, but what’s happening to all your sweaters?” she asked.

He blinked and looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean a lot of your sweaters seem to be gone,” she said.

“I thought you were wearing them,” he said slowly.

“No.”

“For heaven’s sake,” said a third voice, “It’s been two bloody months and neither of you noticed?”

Edith and John looked over their shoulders in time to see Charles drop his head onto his textbook in exasperation. Then Edith did notice as her eyes fell on Jack.

He was staring directly into her eyes, a challenging look reflecting in his own as he raised an eyebrow. He was dressed in a muddy red colored sweater, that bunched up at the elbows and had a small tear on the left shoulder. A small tear that had gotten there from a broken off branch that caught John’s shoulder when he had jumped down from a tree. Everything became clear in that moment.

Jack shifted his gaze and flicked his pencil at Charles. 

“Just when I was about to break the Record of How Long Will It Take For John To Notice,” he grumbled. 

“Why are you wearing John’s sweater?” Edith asked.

“Because, it’s cold,” Jack answered flatly.

“You have your own sweaters,” she returned.

“So do you,” Jack retorted.

“Jack, why _are_ you wearing my sweater?” John asked, sounding genuinely confused.

A muffled snort came from where Charles was resting on the textbook and Jack shot a glare the top of his head.

“They’re comfy,” he grumbled.

Charles straightened up and looked at John seriously. “And they sm-”

“You swore, Charles!” Jack shouted, whacking him in the face with a light stack of papers.

“I did no such thing,” Charles said, shoving the papers out of his face and leaning out of reach as he continued, “He says to me the other day, John, that your ‘sweaters smell like the woodland realm of the Elves, and that they’re as cozy and warm as a Hobbit hole.’”

“I did not!” Jack shouted, continuing to try and smack him with the papers.

“ _Oh Tollers! Oh Tollers_! The warmth of your sweaters!” Charles cried out, clutching his heart and leaning away from Jack’s flailing arms. However he leaned back a bit too far and his chair tipped backwards and crashed to the floor. 

John and Edith winced and Jack stuck out his tongue. “Serves you right.”

“You lot alright over there?” asked the girl behind the counter.

“Quite fine!” Charles said cheerfully.

John helped him up and Edith went ‘round the table to where Jack sat. She picked up his tea and took a drink of it.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Y’know, I was going to make you give back the sweater, but your embarrassment was rather pleasant. I think I’ll let you keep it for today,” she said, taking another sip.

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it again, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. Edith smirked. John ducked his nose into the collar of the sweater he was currently wearing and shrugged. 

“I don’t think it smells that wonderful. I’m just glad it doesn’t smell bad,” he confessed.

Charles bent slightly to sniff John’s shoulder and shrugged. “There _is_ a hint of pine,” he commented.

“I’m getting another cuppa,” Jack muttered, rising from his chair. 

Edith chuckled and kissed John on the cheek. “Smell you later, tree man,” she said.

John laughed and shook his head. “I’ll call you later tonight.”

“Bye Edith,” called Charles, waving as she left.

“Goodbye, boys! And Jack,” she said, pausing at the door.

Jack looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“John likes a certain kind of soap when washing his clothes, so make sure you use the right kind,” she said, then taking a sip of his former tea, she winked and left.

Jack made a noise of indignation, but he didn’t relinquish the sweater.

**Author's Note:**

> I freaking love Edith Tolkien bye


End file.
